I was a kid, when my dad gave me a pen
as a good luck charm.
we were poor and had a small farm.
now, as a teen i trusted no one to share
because i knew they wouldn't care.
wondering.., a diary i maintained,
wrote all the sorrows and pain
with the same pen i wrote all the hopes of
happiness of my future,
for the world it was only a pen
but for me..it was my past, present and future.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A good start with a nice poem, garima. You may like to read my poem, Love And. Thank you.